


Don't Question Miracles

by DarthAbby



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Dwalin/Ori - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Multi, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, side pairings that will move to main pairings tag if i continue this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-08-23 00:52:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16608722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthAbby/pseuds/DarthAbby
Summary: Bilbo Baggins returned to the Shire much changed from when he left. He suffers quietly, with only the help of Hamfast to steady him against the weight of his memories. He mourns the lives of Fili, Kili, and Thorin - he did not even see them buried before he ran back home.Seven years on, he finally realizes he was a bit too hasty.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> apologies to everyone who was hoping for more Marvel or Star Wars fic - I'm back on my bullshit, but this time with more Tolkien. Um. Hope you enjoy the angst regardless?
> 
> This story does have the potential to be multichaptered, but as of now I have nothing more written for it, and am not planning on continuing unless there is interest in me doing so.

On the first anniversary of the battle, Bilbo had tried to go about his business as normal. His hands had started trembling while he was walking through the market, and he never could quite remember that trip back to Bag End. He’d ended up sitting in his front hall, back up against the door, staring sightlessly at the tiled floor for anywhere between five minutes and five hours. He’d finally wobbled down the hall and into bed, unsure if the rest of the day was spent sleeping or staring at the ceiling. The next three days, he had felt as though he was getting over a bout of nasty flu.

On the second and third anniversaries, he’d forgone pretenses and gotten roaringly drunk after securely locking both front and back doors. The subsequent hangovers had not been pleasant by any means, but livable.

On the fourth anniversary, Hamfast Gamgee had shown up at his door not long after first breakfast with a gentle smile and a bottle of his potent homebrew. With Hamfast there to make sure he had water and food in between drinks, Bilbo’s hangover was much more tolerable. The other hobbit never pushed for answers or explanations and seemed content to just take care of him. He showed up again for the fifth and sixth anniversaries, and doubtless would have for the seventh, had a dwarf not arrived in Hobbiton the day before and had been seen by everyone to be tramping up Bagshot Row.

Everyone, that is, except for the one hobbit he had actually come to see.

* * *

Even more than seven years after his ‘miraculous’ return to the Shire, Bilbo was still the object of much gossip and rumor, so he payed no mind to the whispers and curious stares that followed him as he made his way home with two new bottles of wine. He was well aware that drinking himself into a stupor every year was probably not the best way to cope, but he knew of no other way to block out the scenes of battle that flashed in front of his eyes, the screams that echoed in his ears, or the imagined stench of blood and mud and orc that he couldn’t escape.

As he approached Bag End, focusing narrowly on the path, he caught a whiff of pipesmoke. Not Old Toby, or any other Shire strains. No, this smelled more like the Blue Mountain stock that the Company had enjoyed at the beginning of their quest.

Great. Now he was hallucinating good things as well as bad. Maybe he really was losing his mind like everyone whispered behind his back.

“ _There_ you are,” a cheerful voice greeted him when he reached the gate of Bag End. Bilbo stopped dead, not comprehending what he was seeing. “I was starting to wonder if you’d run off without telling anyone again!”

Bilbo blinked. Blinked again. Shifted one of the wine bottles so that he could rub his free hand over his eyes. The dwarf sitting on his front bench didn’t disappear.

“… _Kili?”_

“At your service,” the prince said, managing to smile even brighter. “D’you want a hand with those?”

Bilbo numbly handed over one of the bottles. Hallucinations can’t hold real objects.

“What…?”

“I just finished up a load of terribly boring meetings at the Blue Mountains and thought I’d stop by,” Kili explained, smile starting to drop. “But if you’d rather I go…”

“No!” Bilbo said quickly, finally recovering himself. “No, please. Come inside. Of course you’re welcome here, I just… wasn’t expecting you.”

Kili shifted the bottle between his hands, looking a bit sheepish, and Bilbo was forcefully reminded of the times he had seen the dwarf scolded for mischief on the road. “Ah, yes, I should have written ahead, but by the time I thought about it I was halfway here. I’m very sorry, Bilbo.”

“Nothing to worry about,” he assured, opening the door and ushering his guest inside. “My pantry is well-stocked again.”

Kili laughed, carefully setting down the bottle before taking off his cloak and hanging it on one of the pegs. “And it will stay that way. Just me this time, I promise.”

Bilbo’s heart clenched painfully at the reminder, but if Kili could smile, then he could manage it, too. “Make yourself comfortable, I’ll put on the kettle.” He picked up the wine to tuck away both bottles in the pantry.

Once in the kitchen, Bilbo took a moment to lean against the counter and breathe. Kili was here – Kili was _alive_. He could hardly believe it. He’d been so certain that all three Durins had perished in that horrific battle… but the youngest had survived, somehow. He muttered a near-silent thanks to the Valar before filling the kettle with water.

By the time he had put together a tray and returned to the sitting room, Kili had made himself comfortable in one of the armchairs near the window, lounging in the sunlight streaming in like a happy housecat. He straightened as Bilbo entered, waiting patiently for the hobbit to fuss with the tea and make sure they were both properly served.

“Now, then,” Bilbo said, settling into the other chair with his own cup, “what news can you give me of the rest of the company? I’m afraid I have not kept up a correspondence with anyone.” At first it had been out of grief and directionless anger – then it had simply been too long to start. He had no idea what the feelings of the others might have been towards him. He’d left too quickly after the battle to try and make amends with anyone. Apparently, too quickly to learn of Kili’s survival, too.

Kili brightened immediately. “Bombur’s family arrived with the first group – he has _five_ children, can you believe?” Bilbo bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at Kili’s incredulous look – most hobbits had at least that many children, though he remembered that more than two was considered quite rare and lucky among dwarves. “One was actually born in Erebor just last year. The first of many to come.”

“That’s wonderful,” Bilbo said earnestly.

“Very!” Kili grinned. “Bofur is so proud, you’d think _he_ was the father.”

Bilbo did let himself laugh at that. It was easy to picture the perpetually cheerful dwarf in the role of a doting uncle.

“Bifur and Bofur have started up their shop again,” he continued. “With most of the rebuilding complete and the mines open once more, they’ve been free to start making and selling toys and other trinkets, much to the delight of all the children in both Erebor and Dale.

“And,” he said slyly, “while Bifur lives above the shop, Bofur does not.”

“Oh?” Bilbo said, amused by the leading statement but willing to play along.

“It seems he has found rooms with Nori – something which Nori insists is purely to cut down on expenses, even though both of them are plenty wealthy now.”

Bilbo shook his head with a chuckle. “I did wonder about the two of them at several moments during the journey, but I doubted Nori would ever act on it.”

“I don’t think he did,” Kili laughed. “I’m certain it was all Bofur.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Dori has become a Guildmaster,” he said, moving on through the company members. “And Ori – well, I don’t think anyone told him to do it, he might have just appointed himself as head librarian, but no one would argue it at this point.”

“I’m sure he does a fine job,” Bilbo smiled.

“Which is why no one is arguing,” Kili nodded. “Though somehow he also finds time to still act as scribe for most official meetings. Balin is certainly proud, in that quiet way of his. He’s still acting steward, though I think he’s trying to convince Ori to start taking over so he can retire.”

“He certainly deserves it,” Bilbo nodded.

“That he does. Dwalin, however, is still going strong. He’s built up the Guard marvelously, and has taken over training of any and all who volunteer. We don’t have a standing army, but we have enough to muster a force should the need arise.

“Óin has found an apprentice,” Kili continued after a moment. “Narvi – young lad from the Iron Hills. A number of Iron Hills folk have come to Erebor in hopes of a better life.” He paused for a moment, looking a little sad as they considered the hardships the dwarven kingdoms had faced for so long. “He is good for Óin, keeps him on his toes. He’s also proven to be very adept at distracting young Gimli.”

“Glóin’s son?”

“Yes,” Kili half-laughed. “He and his mother arrived leading the second group out of Ered Luin. He has his father’s temperament and enough energy to put younger versions of Fili and myself to shame.”

“Oh, my,” Bilbo shook his head with a soft smile. “He does sound like a handful.”

“That he is. Speaking of Fili,” Kili said, picking up a warm scone from the plate Bilbo had brought out. “He will be most disappointed to have had to stay behind and miss seeing you – and tasting your cooking.”

Bilbo froze, not quite comprehending Kili’s words, just watching motionlessly as the dwarf happily ate the scone with a bit of jam. “F-Fili?” he finally managed.

“Yes,” Kili said, oblivious to Bilbo’s distress as he prepared another scone for himself. “The meetings in the Blue Mountains were just a formality, really, thanking them for all they did while we were in exile, and extending a blanket invitation to all who wish to move to Erebor. Many already have, but Balin said it would be polite to make a formal announcement. Erebor is recovering, but there is still much to be done before it is fully restored. Fili can’t get away, so I was sent alone.”

Fili was also alive? Bilbo’s head was spinning. Alive, and well enough to be leading the reconstruction effort in Erebor – alive, and most likely _king_ now.

“Yes,” he said faintly. “I imagine it would be difficult for the king to leave long enough to come all the way here.”

Kili frowned slightly around his bite of scone. He carefully chewed and swallowed before answering. “Bilbo,” he said slowly. “Fili is not king.”

That made even less sense – unless Dain had been crowned while the boys had been recovering after the battle? Bilbo had thought them dead, perhaps most others had assumed them not long for the world and Dain had been swiftly coronated. Yes, that –

“Bilbo,” Kili said again, shaking him from his thoughts. “Did you –?” He paused, looking troubled, and started over. “Can you tell me what you remember of the battle?”

His hands tightened around his tea cup, and though he could not look away from Kili’s concerned face, Bilbo was sure his knuckles were white against the porcelain.

“Not much,” he admitted quietly. “I took a blow to the head and missed most of it.”

“What about after?” he asked gently.

Bilbo’s eyes shut tightly of their own accord. “I knew you and Fili had fallen,” he said, voice taking on a hoarse edge. “And I saw the end of Thorin’s battle with Azog. I pulled Thorin to safety, off the river, and then I – I ran,” he admitted. “I couldn’t… the sight of him, so still, it…” he shook his head wordlessly.

Warm hands enveloped his own, carefully removing the tea cup before it was spilled by his shaking.

“Easy,” Kili rumbled low in his chest, and it was ridiculous, _he_ had been the one who had lost his uncle and almost lost his brother and his own life that day, and here he was comforting _Bilbo_. “Easy, now. I’m right here. I know it must’ve looked something awful, but we survived.”

Yes, that was true, he had just told Bilbo that Fili was still alive and well, and Kili was solidly there in front of him. They had survived. Not all was lost that day.

“Mahal,” Kili said, so quietly Bilbo almost missed it. “We should have written _ages_ ago.”

“T-that’s quite alright,” Bilbo said, managing to pry his eyes open enough to see Kili’s worried face in front of his own. “You’re here now, that’s what matters, and now I know that Fili is safe as well.”

“You thought we all _died_ ,” he pointed out forcefully. “That isn’t alright at all!” He shook his head. “I would have insisted on coming much sooner if we had realized.”

“It’s –”

“It is _not_ alright,” Kili scowled, and he looked so much like his uncle in that moment that Bilbo had to discreetly bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself in the moment. “Here we all thought that you were upset at us and that’s why we kept our distance, and all the while you were in mourning!”

“Upset? Why would I be upset?”

Kili gave him a bewildered look. “Uncle threatened to drop you off the front gate.”

Bilbo grimaced. “Yes, well. I will admit that soured things.”

In truth, he was still angry with Thorin about that, but it was no use holding grudges against the dead. Besides, he did understand that Thorin had not been in his right mind at the time, and his dying words had been an attempt to make amends. That didn’t mean he had completely forgiven Thorin, but grief, time, and distance had dulled the anger.

Kili shook his head. “You are far too forgiving, Bilbo, but I’ve never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.” His concerned expression suddenly turned hopeful. “Would you be willing to write a letter to him? I can deliver it myself – just, something to say that you are not still furious.”

Bilbo frowned, confused by the sudden shift in tone. “Write a letter to _whom_ , exactly?”

“Thorin, of course.”

If seeing Kili had been a shock, if hearing about Fili had been enough to momentarily freeze Bilbo’s limbs, then learning of Thorin’s survival made his heart stop. As he gaped at Kili, he felt the odd emptiness in his chest where a heartbeat should be.

“What?” he finally breathed.

“You don’t have to,” Kili said, hope quickly turning to worry. “I just thought –”

“Thorin is _alive_?”

“…yes?”

Kili jumped slightly as Bilbo shot to his feet, eyes wide and a little wild. “Thorin’s alive and you didn’t _lead with that_?!”

“I –”

Bilbo turned away before Kili could explain, marching towards his room.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“To pack!” Bilbo called over his shoulder. “Thorin Oakenshield is alive and I have more to say to him than could _possibly_ fit into a single letter.”

And this time, he thought with no small amount of disgruntlement, he would pack properly and bring several handkerchiefs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So maybe Kili wasn't as alone as he said before...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I would post this Monday but it's Sunday and the chapter is done, so... I guess I'm even more impatient than you guys lol
> 
> Enjoy the new chap, ft. a hefty chunk of PoV from a character whom I've based heavily on my granddad bc he has almost no characterization in canon lmao

Bilbo had taken a number of walking holidays since returning from Erebor – apparently, far from satisfying any wanderlust the lingered within him, the quest had awoken it. Though he rarely was gone for more than a week, unless he was visiting friends and relatives, Bilbo had all but turned packing for a trip into an art form.

It was a far cry from the first time he had run out of Bag End, waving the contract like a banner and with only a dinner jacket to keep himself warm.

Kili was somewhat startled to find Bilbo carrying a travel pack, clearly full but not overstuffed, less than an hour after all but running out of the sitting room. Bilbo carefully set the pack down by the front door, next to Kili’s own, before returning to his seat.

“You’re serious, then?” Kili asked. He’d spent Bilbo’s absence thinking over what the hobbit’s return would mean, and what his reaction had said of the last seven years spent tucked away in the Shire – Kili could certainly not be faulted for worrying about Bilbo’s state of mind. “You want to come back to Erebor with me?”

“Yes,” he said, setting his jaw and giving Kili a look that clearly dared him to challenge the decision further. “I do. And if you try to stop me, I will follow you regardless.”

Kili held up his hands placatingly. “I would never dream of such a thing,” he assured. “I just want to make certain that you know what you are agreeing to – you know how long the journey is, and we will make the Misty Mountains only just in time before the passes close for winter. There will be no returning to the Shire until spring at the earliest.”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow. “Then we’d best get moving. I’d hate to be trapped by a blizzard in the mountains.”

“What – now?”

“Not this instant,” he quickly said. “But in the morning, I think. The longer we wait, the harder the journey will be. Besides, I am certain that just the two of us will move much faster than fourteen. And I highly doubt we will be besieged by trolls, orcs, and goblins at every turn, _or_ that we will be forced to languish in an elven dungeon for weeks again.”

“I wouldn’t count on running into no trouble whatsoever, though,” Kili warned.

“Then won’t you be grateful to have someone else to watch your back?”

Well. He could hardly argue that point. Although, that did remind him.

“I did not come completely alone,” he admitted. “I left my fellows at an inn and continued here, but it will not just be ourselves. Though, of course, I am always happy to have our Master Burglar on my side,” he added with a smile.

Bilbo snorted, though he was also smiling once more. “I’ve only ever successfully stolen one thing in my life, and look how well _that_ ended.” Kili winced slightly at the reminder, but Bilbo continued without pause. “Unless you have an entire legion with you, I am sure there is room enough for all here in Bag End.”

Kili perked up again. “You are most kind, Bilbo. And I highly doubt that they have stayed obediently in their rooms, so I think a stroll down Bagshot Row should find them quickly enough.”

“Anyone I know?” If the question sounded a bit eager, it was because Bilbo _was_ eager at the prospect of seeing more old friends. Even when he had thought Thorin and the boys dead, that was no real excuse to abandon the others. He had only himself to blame for that particular lapse – it was far past time to make amends.

Perhaps he should have hid his feelings a bit more carefully, though, because Kili had an all-too-familiar gleam in his eyes. “You’ll just have to find them and determine that for yourself.”

As it would be no use arguing, Bilbo did not, and instead rose and gestured towards the door. “Shall we?”

Before Kili could answer, though, there was a shout from outside.

* * *

Hamfast Gamgee did not suffer fools gladly. He was friendly and willing to give advice when asked, enjoyed taking his turn at entertaining the children during parties, and was widely respected throughout the Shire. He prided himself on his growing family and his garden (and the Bag End garden, which was near enough his own).

So it was with little joy that he first saw the dwarves tramping through his garden – though he did note that they were at least making an effort to avoid crushing the flowers, they had no such eye when it came to vegetables, and they were headed straight for his carrot bed.

“And _what_ do you think you lads are doing?” he roared, flinging the back door open, favorite hoe in one hand and eldest daughter behind him with a trowel, scowling fiercely at the intruders that had so upset her da.

The dwarves, to their credit, froze instead of jumping and possibly doing more damage.

“Ah, well, we were just –”

“Just? _Just?_ ” Hamfast shouted, stepping out into the garden to give them the fully-grown version of the scowl on his daughter’s face. “You were only _just_ about to ruin my carrots, lad, after stomping over half of my poor potatoes!”

The dwarves had the grace to look ashamed as they realized that the green bits poking out of the ground were not weeds or grass or whatever they had supposed, but food for Hamfast’s family.

It was at that moment that Bilbo and another dwarf appeared at the gate, looking equal amounts concerned and aggravated.

“Mister Bilbo,” Hamfast said, dropping immediately into a polite greeting and friendly nod. “I hope we didn’t disturb you, sir.”

“No, Hamfast,” Bilbo assured. “I was more concerned about your safety.”

“Bilbo!” He turned at the call, taking in the sheepish expressions of the dwarves in the Gamgees’ garden.

“I _told_ you to stay at the inn,” the dwarf who had arrived with Bilbo sighed.

“You were gone too long,” the dwarf who had apparently taken a position as spokesperson defended. “We got worried.”

“We’re in the _Shire,_ what could possibly have happened to me here?”

“You could’ve run across _this_ hobbit,” the smallest of the dwarves in the garden suddenly piped up, eyeing the hoe in Hamfast’s hand suspiciously.

“I’m sure Mister Gamgee wasn’t going to harm anyone,” Bilbo said with the surety of experience. Hamfast had given many faunts a stern talking-to when the need arose, but he would never raise a hand against them. The hoe was mostly for show, especially considering that the small dwarf could not be much past coming of age. “How about you lot _carefully_ come with me to the proper lane, and we can get you to Bag End without upsetting any more of my friends.”

Hamfast’s daughter took that as her cue to show the dwarves the little garden path to the gate. Her scowl had lessened considerably, though she still didn’t seem happy.

“Thank you, Laura,” Bilbo smiled at her, which brightened her mood. Both of Hamfast’s faunts adored Bilbo – most of the young ones around the Shire did. He told the _best_ stories.

The dwarves trooped out of the garden, the one who had arrived with Bilbo leading them to Bag End with an annoyed look.

“Sorry for the trouble, Hamfast,” Bilbo said once the dwarves were on their way. “I hope the damage isn’t irreparable?”

“Don’t you worry overmuch, Mister Bilbo,” he said, now leaning on his hoe comfortably instead of brandishing it like a weapon. “My garden has suffered worse under my own brood.”

“ _Da!_ ”

Hamfast and Bilbo shared a chuckle at Laura’s highly affronted expression. “It’ll be good practice for ‘em, anyways,” he continued. “Fixing broken stalks and whatnot. Keep Laura and Allison out of Bell’s way for a while, in any case.”

Bilbo nodded, well aware that Bell Gamgee was pregnant with their third. “I might stop by later,” he warned. “After a long talk with my guests – I have a feeling there will be some things for you and I to discuss, too.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for you,” Hamfast agreed easily. “You’d better get goin’, now, or they might start wrecking _your_ garden.”

“They wouldn’t dare, especially once I mention that it is more your garden than my own.” Bilbo shook his head with a smile and took his leave, bidding the Gamgees’ a cheerful goodbye.

* * *

Kili was in the midst of upbraiding the other three when Bilbo arrived back home – something which amused the hobbit to no end, considering how often he’d seen Kili receive similar scoldings on the road. Of course, that just meant that Kili was well-versed in exactly how to convey disappointment and outrage in the same breath.

“– really thought that you’d know better, which is why I _asked_ for you to come along,” he was saying, doing his very best impression of Thorin’s ‘horribly displeased’ face. While certainly a good imitation, it was hardly effective on anyone who had born the brunt of the real thing, which was probably why one of the three didn’t look very impressed.

“If you had to go around stomping someone’s vegetables,” Bilbo cut in smoothly, “at least it was Hamfast Gamgee’s. He’s one of the few in the Shire who will keep his mouth shut about the whole affair.”

The three culprits at least looked truly apologetic at that. “We’re very sorry, Bilbo. We were just… worried.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Whatever for? I’m not the type to hamstring my friends, even if they do arrive unannounced.” At that, he finally broke into a smile. “Good to see you again, Bofur.”

Bofur grinned back widely. “Good to see you, too, Bilbo.” He gestured at his two companions. “This is Gimli and Narvi.”

“At your service,” the two younger dwarves chorused, bowing to him.

“Bilbo Baggins at yours,” he said. “Would anyone like some tea?”

Kili followed him to the kitchen this time, looking troubled.

“Don’t be so dour,” Bilbo said, concentrating on putting a new tray together.

“But –”

“You feel responsible,” Bilbo finished. “I understand, Kili, I do. But unless I am much mistaken, they are you friends first, subjects second, and they were concerned about you. No harm was done,” he said, finally turning and holding out the tray expectantly. “Hamfast simply wanted to scare them a bit, which he did. They won’t go tramping through any more gardens, I’m sure.”

Kili took the tray, still unsure, but nodded and returned to the sitting room. Bilbo followed with the teapot, as the tray had been too full for it.

Gimli and Bofur were already helping themselves to the goodies on the tray, but Narvi had been drawn to one of the frames on the mantle. Bilbo didn’t need to follow his eyes to know what the youngest dwarf had become fixated on – there was only one thing on that mantle that would be of any interest to him.

He set down the teapot and stepped up beside Narvi. “I suppose you’ve heard that particular story so often that you’re sick of it.”

“Hardly,” he said, finally tearing his eyes off of the tattered old map. “There is always some new detail that has been forgotten before that retelling, and which usually leads to a new argument over who did what and who said something stupid.”

“Probably Kili.”

Narvi laughed even as Kili glanced over at them suspiciously, having caught only his own name. Bofur drew him back into their own conversation before he could start anything, though.

“Besides,” he continued, “I’ve never heard _your_ version of the story, Master Baggins.”

“Bilbo, please,” he said. “And I will be happy to tell you – but not tonight. There will be time enough while we travel.”

“We?” Narvi questioned, eyebrows rising in pleasant surprise. “Are you returning to Erebor with us?”

“What?” Bofur asked, suddenly turning to join them. “Is that right, Bilbo?”

“Yes,” he said, amused at their excited reactions. “It’s high time I saw everyone again.”

“What he means is that he needs to have several words with Uncle,” Kili said with a little chuckle.

“Good,” Bofur nodded decisively. “His Royalness has been a right royal _ass_ for most of the past seven years.”

“ _Bofur_.”

“It’s true,” he defended as Bilbo shook his head. “He’s polite enough in public, ‘else Balin and Dís would likely box his ears, but behind closed doors? Even grumpier than the first time we came to Hobbiton. Back me up here, Kili.”

He was slow to answer, obviously not wanting to show his uncle in a bad light, but unable to completely deny the bare truth. “Erebor is mostly rebuilt – the main areas, at least – and our people aren’t starving to death any more, but Uncle isn’t… happy.”

“He’s crosser than a poked bear,” Gimli corrected.

“Gimli,” Kili began, scowling again.

“It’s true and you know it,” Gimli scowled right back. “I’ve heard my da talk about him, how he’s all prickly and how everyone expected him to be better now.”

“Just because you’re family, don’t think I won’t thump you.”

“You can try,” Gimli said, something almost eager in his eyes.

“That’s enough, lads,” Bofur cut in. “No fighting in hobbit holes.”

“Indeed,” Bilbo frowned at the pair. Kili still looked peeved, and Gimli was obviously as eager to wield his axe as his father was. “How about I show you to your rooms?” Separating the two might help things cool down a touch.

Bofur and Narvi agreed easily, meaning that the other two couldn’t very well refuse, and Bilbo soon had them all sorted away in various guest rooms.

When he was finally alone once more, in the kitchen, he noticed the slight tremble in his hand with an odd sort of detachment.

“Hm,” he muttered, feeling very distant from himself as he watched his own hand shake slightly. “That’s never a good sign.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since my ability to keep to a posting schedule is nil, I guess just expect new chapters Monday-ish? Sometime between Sunday and Tuesday at any rate. If I try to keep them shorter like this, between 2k and 2.5k words, then I think it will be more manageable to do weekly updates.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo is unwell. Kili is worried. Bofur is sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone! a few notes to start things off
> 
> first of all, thank you so much for the kudos and comments - you probably know that originally intended this to be a one-shot, but the sheer amount of enthusiasm people have for this silly little AU of mine means that I now have close to 20 chapters roughly outlined. I'm not sure if 20 will be the final count, but expect this story to go on for a while! And comments really do help me stay motivated - even if all you have to say is "!!!!!", it still means the world to me.
> 
> second of all, this is the first chapter with a bit of Khuzdul in it. I tried to get footnotes for you all, but they're still a work in progress and I wanted to get the chapter up. I hope to figure out footnotes at a later date and add them in later, but for now, translations are at the bottom.
> 
> finally, and most importantly, **CONTENT WARNING!** see the end notes for more details

It was about a two-week journey from the Shire to Rivendell, though with ponies they were able to make it in a little over one week.

It was, quite possibly, the longest week of Bilbo’s life. And yes, he was including the awful time spent in Mirkwood on his first journey to Erebor. While that had been far from pleasant, at least he hadn’t felt… he didn’t feel like…

Bother it all, but Bilbo didn’t know _what_ he felt now, he just knew it was an awful feeling. He felt just on the edge of sickness all the time, even more jumpy than he had at the beginning of the quest, and he seemed to be constantly shifting between being far too aware of his own physical presence and feeling as though he was watching everything that happened from a great distance away. It was a struggle talking to the others sometimes. He was focusing so much on acting as though nothing was wrong that he often lost track of the conversation.

Narvi had asked him to tell a story from the quest their second night on the road. The idea had been almost enough to make Bilbo ill and he had muttered some sort of excuse before going to stand by his pony for a while. He didn’t understand what the issue was. He had rehashed the story of the quest many times since returning to the Shire with little to no difficulty – why was he unable to get the words out now?

Bilbo felt disgusted with himself. Why was he breaking _now_? Why was everything suddenly a chore? He should be happy – he was among old friends, on a journey to see more friends. He was finally travelling again, something that he had secretly longed for ever since his first summer back in Bag End. He knew that Kili, Fili, and Thorin were all still alive.

So _what_ was his problem?

As they neared Rivendell, Bilbo could only hope that he would get over this… _silliness_ sooner rather than later.

* * *

Something was wrong with Bilbo, and Bofur was pretty sure he knew what it was. And on what they estimated to be their last night in the open before Rivendell, when Bilbo stole away to the ponies again, Bofur leaned in towards Kili, who was watching the hobbit’s back with a furrowed brow.

“ _Barshu zailû ,_ ” he said softly.

Kili contemplated this for a moment. “But when? The battle? He was uninjured, according to Bard.”

Bofur sighed and shook his head. “You don’t need to shed blood to get hurt, lad.”

 _Barshu zailû_ – if there was a word for it in Westron, Bofur didn’t know it. But he knew the signs well enough. It was something he’d seen often enough in the haunted eyes of other miners, and his own cousin. Bifur didn’t wake up screaming anymore, but Bofur remembered those years with aching clarity. Sometimes, a person was hurt deep within themselves. They seemed well enough on the surface, but inside, they were still raw and bleeding. There wasn’t an easy solution, either. Bifur had gradually gotten better, with time and support from his cousins, but Bofur knew of at least one dwarf who had been unable to heal. Bofur had been part of the team that had rescued that dwarf and two others from a cave-in. All three had those haunted eyes afterwards. Two had been able to find the path towards their recovery. One had not.

Bofur had ended up attending his rescue _and_ his funeral. For that dwarf, the _barshu zailû_ had been too great.

He didn’t want to attend Bilbo’s funeral, at least not for a very long time to come.

“We might need to stay with the elves for a while,” Bofur said. He wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but he didn’t want Bilbo to suffer any longer than he had to. “They have the best healers.”

“The pass –”

“Erebor will still be standing in the spring,” Bofur pointed out. “Kili. He’s hurting.”

Kili winced. He hated the idea of his friends in pain, and Bofur knew this well. A low blow, perhaps, but a truthful one. “…I’ll speak to Lord Elrond when we reach Rivendell,” he finally said. “If he thinks wintering there is the best idea, then I will send a raven to Uncle and tell him that we couldn’t make the pass in time.”

“Lying to the king, now?”

“If he knows _why_ we stay in Rivendell, he’ll just get even grumpier,” Kili grimaced. Though he was reluctant to admit that Thorin was being, as Bofur had said, a ‘royal ass,’ he couldn’t completely deny it, either. “You can tell Nori, though, if you want. If anyone knows how to keep a secret, it’s him.”

“That’s for certain,” he half-laughed, though it sounded a little sad. “He still won’t admit to courting me in public.”

Kili gave him a sympathetic look and patted his shoulder. “He cares about you. I’m sure that soon –”

“Ach, I’m not concerned about his feelings,” Bofur said, though hurt flashed through his eyes for the briefest moment. “I just want him to realize for himself that nothing bad will happen if either of us make a public declaration.”

There was a loud squawk from the other side of the fire at that moment, as apparently Gimli had gotten bored and decided to poke Narvi, unintentionally finding a very ticklish spot on his side. Kili and Bofur intervened before it could turn into a brawl, and once everything was sorted, it was time to bed down.

Bofur settled down once more in his seat by the fire, having taken first watch. His eyes lingered for a moment over the tense shoulders that he could see clearly through Bilbo’s blanket, feeling worry swirling in the pit of his stomach once more before he looked out over the dark landscape.

* * *

A little past midday, an elvish patrol came upon the group of four dwarves and one uneasy hobbit.

“Prince Kili,” the leader of the patrol said, swinging down from his horse gracefully. “We were starting to wonder if you had passed by without saying hello.”

Kili laughed and got off his pony to greet the elf properly. “Somehow, I doubt you would allow that to happen.” He turned slightly to gesture to his companions. “You remember Bofur, Gimli, and Narvi, I presume?”

“Of course,” the elf said, nodding at them kindly. “And who is your new companion?”

“Bilbo Baggins,” he said, choosing to remain on his pony for the time being.

“Well met, Master Baggins,” the elf smiled. “I am Elladan.”

“Well met, Master Elladan,” Bilbo smiled back.

“I imagine that you would all prefer to find yourselves in real beds tonight, rather than huddled around a campfire,” Elladan said, swinging himself back up onto his horse with as much grace as before. “I would be most pleased to lead the way back to the Last Homely House.”

The rest of the elves fell into a loose formation around the group. Bofur nudged Gimli when he noticed the younger dwarf giving them a suspicious look. He thought that the younger had gotten over most of his prejudices when they had stopped in at Rivendell before, on their way to the Blue Mountains, but apparently he was back to being prickly and suspicious.

Well, at least Narvi seemed content enough. Óin had probably told the lad to be polite to the elves, on the off-chance they would pass on a few secrets about healing. He’d been surreptitiously angling for their tricks of the trade ever since seeing Tauriel heal Kili in Lake-town.

As they rode on, slightly more to the left than Kili had been leading them, Bofur just hoped that somewhere in their knowledge of healing potions and spells, they had some way of helping Bilbo.

* * *

Rivendell was like a breath of fresh air to Bilbo. As soon as they passed within the boarders, his mind felt clearer, more present. The uncomfortable rolling of his stomach settled, and he wasn’t flinching at every unexpected noise.

By Yavanna he was _tired_ , though.

Lord Elrond greeted the party at the main entrance, welcoming them all back to his home. With him was another elf who made Bilbo look twice – he could only be Elladan’s twin. His exhausted mind, though, could not keep up with more introductions, and the walk to a guest room was completely forgotten by the time Bilbo’s head hit a soft pillow.

* * *

“It is concerning,” Elrond said, hands steepled in front of him contemplatively. “But not hopeless.”

“You can heal him?” Kili asked eagerly.

Dinner had been a quiet affair from which Bilbo was completely absent. Bofur had reported that the hobbit was in a deep sleep when he had gone to check, and no one wanted to wake him when he clearly needed the rest. After eating, Kili had made his way to Elrond’s study, and explained his worries about Bilbo.

“Heal him, no. _Help_ him… yes, we can do that.” Elrond turned his thoughtful gaze from his hands back to the dwarf. “There is no cure for what you describe.”

“You have seen it before, then?”

His expression darkened, and his eyes grew distant. “Yes.” A single word, but Kili could feel the weight behind it. Whomever Elrond had seen the _barshu zailû_ in before, clearly it had affected him deeply. “There are several different words for it in the various languages – I’ve no doubt that you have already found the term in Khuzdul.” Kili nodded. “I believe that Men first termed it _battle fatigue_ in Westron, many years ago.”

Battle fatigue. Kili could work with that – he could see the implications. Battles and war tended to wear on soldiers; though Kili himself had only been in one major battle, he knew enough of the old guard to understand how the stress of fighting wore one thin.

“How do we help Bilbo, then?” he asked.

“Time,” Elrond said firmly. “More than anything, he needs time to adjust and settle. You mentioned that he believed that you, your brother, and the King had all perished in the battle?”

“Yes.”

“The knowledge that you have, essentially, returned from the dead is no small thing,” he counseled. “From what you have told me, Bilbo jumped into the most stressful situation, short of an actual battle, that he could find. He learns that his friends are _not_ dead, as he had believed for years, and decides to set out on a journey that will largely retrace the steps that lead to his battle fatigue on the very anniversary of said battle.” Elrond shook his head slowly. “It is astounding that he did not collapse sooner. I imagine the only thing that kept him going until you arrived here was the sheer amount of stress he placed upon himself.”

Kili winced. “I should never have gone to the Shire,” he sighed. “Bilbo was perfectly fine before I showed up.”

“I highly doubt that,” Elrond said, raising one eyebrow. “Just because he had a routine and seemed to be functioning within the community, does not mean he was happy.”

Kili furrowed his brow. “But –”

“I believe answers to those questions will be best found with Bilbo himself,” Elrond said swiftly. “In the meantime, perhaps it will suit you to stay with us for the winter. Allow Bilbo to find some peace, and the rest of your journey will be easier on all.”

“Thank you, Lord Elrond,” Kili nodded. “I shall take you up on that offer. Is there a raven around that might deliver a message for me?”

“I believe that there is still a breeding pair in the southern end of the garden,” he said. “You should be able to find them by following the path there.” He gestured out of one of the windows, where a small path wound through the bushes and quickly disappeared from view around a tree.

Kili thanked him again before taking his leave, and was soon following the meandering path down to the southern edges of the vast garden.

The raven he eventually found, hopping around in the grass below an old tree that was so thick that it was reminiscent of the grand pillars in Erebor’s halls, gave him an inquiring look, but did not speak as he approached.

“I suppose it would be too much to ask for a true raven of Erebor in Rivendell,” Kili sighed. “Would you be willing to take a message for me, anyways?”

The raven cawed at him and spread its wings. Kili quickly moved his hair off of one shoulder, and the raven took to the offered perch.

“I take that as a yes, then?” The raven cawed again, right in his ear, and Kili winced. “Thank you, Master Raven. I just need to write out a short letter, and perhaps one of my friends will, too, and then you can be on your way.”

* * *

_Hail, Thorin II Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain._

_We have left the Blue Mountains in good spirits. I believe that more dwarves will soon be arriving in Erebor, as many seemed very interested in our invitation._

_I regret to inform you that we were unable to reach the Misty Mountains in time to make the pass. Lord Elrond has graciously offered for us to winter in Rivendell, which I accepted. Though we wished to be home sooner, it will not be until late spring when we finally return._

_The wait will be worth it, however. I return home with a surprise for you, Uncle. You are not allowed to ask what it is, either! You shall just have to wait until you can see it for yourself.  – Kili_

_P.S. enclosed is a letter for Nori, from Bofur. Please make certain that he receives it._

* * *

_Nori Mutarsasûn,_

_Convinced Kili to winter in Rivendell. I think it will be for the best. We’ve a fifth member of our party – the one we spoke of before I left. But he is unwell, so. Elves._

_~~I miss you~~ Until the spring. – Bofur_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CONTENT WARNING: **there is a brief mention of an unnamed character committing suicide off-screen. This happens at the end of Bofur thinking about barshu zailû.****
> 
>  
> 
> Khuzdul Translations
> 
> barshu zailû = wound of the mind
> 
> Mutarsasûn = an acronym for "Mukhuh targzu satarrigi sigin" (a phrase meaning "May your beard continue to grow longer!"), combined with the personifying "ûn". When addressing a female dwarf the term changes to Mutarsasûna. This honorific is usually placed after the name. (From the DwarrowScholar Neo-Khuzdul Dictionary)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interlude at the Lonely Mountain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays, everyone!
> 
> I meant to have this chapter out yesterday, in the grand hobbit tradition of giving gifts to your friends on your birthday, but the last scene was just giving me all sorts of trouble. I imagine it's probably terribly improper in the Shire, to give belated birthday gifts, but you guys don't mind, right?

Balin waited patiently as Thorin read over the letter from Kili once, twice, then held up a second letter, still tied together.

“For Nori,” he grunted, never looking up as he scanned over the letter a third time. Balin took the second letter and stepped out into the hallway. One of Dwalin’s newer recruits was standing guard – Alfar, if Balin wasn’t mistaken.

“Here, lad,” he said, handing over the letter. “Take this to Master Nori.”

Alfar nodded, then hesitated. “Where -?”

“Just walk around the marketplace,” Balin advised, well aware of how difficult it was to find the spymaster on short notice. “He’ll find you.”

He nodded and set off. Dwalin had trained this lot well – they knew better than to argue with Balin about anything, even when it would have been construed as ‘abandoning their post’ by Dwalin’s predecessor.

“Well? What news from the lads?” Balin asked as he reentered the room.

“They’re staying in Rivendell until spring,” Thorin grumbled, gesturing crossly at the letter that now lay abandoned on the table. Balin walked over and picked it up, quickly reading through for himself.

“A wise choice, then,” he said as he finished. “The pass can be dangerous even without the threat of a winter blizzard.” Thorin grunted, and Balin sent a silent prayer to Mahal. Ever since Kili had left, he had been even more surly than usual. “I take it you are not pleased with his little ‘surprise,’ then?”

“The last time I was truly surprised, we were captured by goblins and almost killed by Azog,” he scowled. “Before _that_ , it was Smaug showing up to raze Dale and take control of Erebor. So, no, I am not _pleased_ by the idea of a surprise.”

Balin just hummed, wondered if perhaps he should write to Kili himself and try to determine if the surprise was harmless enough to remain a surprise. “Well, nothing to do about it now. We should discuss living arrangements. I doubt that it will be a small group that comes from the Blue Mountains, and most of the quarters that are useable are already occupied. We should get to work immediately on clearing more, before they arrive in the spring.”

“Right,” Thorin said, putting the letter aside to spread their working map of Erebor on the table. It was kept carefully up to date by Balin himself, marking out what areas needed what repairs, what rooms and halls were unstable, and where most of the daily activities took place.

The single-mindedness with which Thorin threw himself into the planning was not new to Balin, but he knew that it meant the king would be brooding late into the night over the letter from his sister-son.

* * *

Nori noticed the guard wandering the marketplace and was instantly suspicious. That was Alfar, and Alfar was supposed to be on-duty. He was not lollygagging, though, and was paying no mind to the merchants and their wares. No, the guard was searching for someone.

“And what are you up to, lad?” Nori asked, quietly enough to be covered by the sounds of the marketplace, but close enough to Alfar’s ear that the guard could not miss it.

He stiffened, but didn’t turn. Good. Maybe there was hope for some of Dwalin’s guards yet.

“Message for you, sir,” Alfar said softly.

Nori narrowed his eyes and lightly pulled on the back of Alfar’s arm, a silent command to follow. He didn’t turn around as he took a winding, random path back through the crowds until he found a secluded corner. Alfar joined him after a moment and held out a letter.

The short message was quickly read. Nori glanced back up at Alfar. “You can go back to your post.”

The guard nodded and left, taking the long route back to the royal halls.

Yes, certainly hope for at least one of Dwalin’s guards. Nori had been reminded recently that intelligence networks only worked if there were multiple people involved. Perhaps it was time to expand his one-dwarf act.

He found himself reciting the letter in his head as he waited. Counting had never worked very well for Nori – he kept time through reciting things he heard or read. It doubled as a memorization technique; always valuable in his line of work. After four repeats, Nori slipped out of the corner and took one of the more secluded routes back to his – _their_ – rooms.

So, Bofur was returning with Bilbo. But Bilbo was ‘unwell’ – not physically ill, no, this was something different. Nori knew how Bofur wrote (though he did not write often), how he used words. He would have said ‘ill’ if Bilbo had a fever or similar. Unwell… unwell meant something different.

The fact that Bofur had very purposefully not named Bilbo was odd, too. His presence was being kept secret for some reason. Why? Was he being hunted? Who would be hunting a hobbit?

Well. Nori could think of a couple of orcs who would hunt a hobbit, that _particular_ hobbit, but they were dead. He’d double-checked that fact himself. The elf-prince and Thorin could confirm, too.

If they were not being hunted, why not tell anyone that Bilbo accompanied them?

He latched the door behind him and pulled out the letter once more.

_Nori Mutarsasûn,_

_Convinced Kili to winter in Rivendell. I think it will be for the best. We’ve a fifth member of our party – the one we spoke of before I left. But he is unwell, so. Elves._

_~~I miss you~~ Until the spring. – Bofur_

Nothing had changed from the first time he had read it, of course. The semi-formal greeting hurt in a way he hadn’t anticipated. And the last line…

He ran one calloused finger over the three words that had been struck out. Still legible, though Bofur had clearly made the line through them several times.

_I miss you_

Nori stared hard at the words, as though hoping a hidden meaning would appear if he looked long enough. When none did, he carefully refolded the letter, and tossed it into the fireplace before reaching for a matchstick.

The paper caught quickly and was soon indistinguishable from the rest of the ashes, save for their more recent warmth.

* * *

Thorin did not do much without it being scheduled a week or more in advance, so Dwalin wasn’t expecting him to show up to the training session that evening. But he also knew Thorin very well, and knew that the king would start pulling his hair out if he was trapped in an endless loop of paperwork and council meetings without respite, and so wasn’t overly surprised to see him. Thorin, much as he tried to pretend otherwise, was still young at heart, and the young like nothing more than skiving off their duties to do something more fun.

So, Dwalin said nothing about the meeting he was pretty sure Thorin was supposed to be in and just paired him off with an older guard who wouldn’t be flustered about crossing blades with the king.

When he called for a break, though, he made a beeline for where Thorin was tightening the straps on his boots.

“How did you manage to slip Balin?” he asked casually.

“Actually, he was the one who told me to, and I quote, ‘let off some steam before you bite someone’s head off’,” Thorin grunted, standing upright once more.

“Aye?” Dwalin questioned, raising an eyebrow. “And what got you into such a mood?”

Thorin scowled into his beard. “Kili wrote me. He and the others have to stay in Rivendell until spring.”

Dwalin crossed his arms. “And?”

“…and he’s bringing some sort of _surprise_ for me.”

He was well aware of Thorin’s feelings on surprises, but that couldn’t be the whole story. He also knew that now was not the time, nor the place, to push, though.

“Come on, then,” he said, turning back towards the center of the training area. Dwalin smirked when he all but felt Thorin’s confused look (easily misread as his suspicious look by those who did not know him). He didn’t have to turn to know it was on his face. “Let’s show these dwarves what a _real_ bout looks like.”

They had not sparred together for far too long, let alone with an audience. It was a fight, yes, but it was also a performance. Dwalin had to hold in his laughter when his first strike was blocked with a move that Thorin rarely, if ever, used in actual battle, but certainly _looked_ impressive.

They danced around the training area, Orcrist ringing against Grasper and Keeper. This was familiar – this was right. Their old teachers had called them Thorin-and-Dwalin, both names in the same breath, as though one without the other was unthinkable. Dwalin certainly agreed with them. What use is a Captain of the King’s Guard without a King? What use is a friend alone?

“Is that all you got, you  _kakhuf inbarathrag_?” Dwalin scoffed, easily blocking a hit from Thorin that was more style than substance. “Even my brother hits better, and he is well over two hundred!”

“Apologies, Captain,” Thorin said, casually ducking under his axes. “I thought I should take it easy on you, since you must be tired after child-minding all day.”

That garnered a laugh from the older guards, and even the younger ones were chuckling despite themselves. It was no secret that Dwalin spent the majority of his time with his newer recruits, training them up to his high standards.

They traded another few blows before a shout rang out.

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!”

Thorin held up a hand, and Dwalin obligingly stopped. Were it anyone else, he likely would have continued to fight, but Thorin knew the dangers of being distracted in battle already. Dwalin didn’t have to teach him that particular lesson.

A small figure pushed their way through the ring of spectators. Súna, one of Bombur’s brood.

“What is it?” Thorin asked.

Súna paused for a moment, catching their breath. They appeared to have run quite some distance. “It’s Prince Fili, Majesty,” they finally said. “He’s fallen again.”

Dwalin watched as Thorin’s shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly. “Lead the way,” he directed, sheathing Orcrist. Súna scampered back off, Thorin following with his best imperial glower.

“Hannar,” Dwalin barked, securing Grasper and Keeper against his back.

“Capt’n,” the guard nodded, stepping up. “I’ve got it under control here. Go on.”

Dwalin paused to clap a grateful hand on Hannar’s shoulder, and then was off, darting after Thorin and Súna.

Hannar turned back to the assembled crowd in the training area. “Well, what are you lot looking at? Get back to your drills!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seem to be collecting quite an amount of child/young adult OCs in this fic. Hopefully no one minds too much.
> 
> Khuzdul Translations
> 
> Kakhuf inbarathrag = goat turd (Dwalin is definitely one of those people where the more he insults you, the more he likes you. Like an Australian. He’s probably called an orc ‘sir’ before.)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Healing is needed on both sides of the Misty Mountains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I survived finals week, y'all! Which, I probably should have warned everyone about last chapter, but I was already getting frazzled by the sheer amount of essays to complete. My bad.
> 
> A quick note: I was not intending on returning to Erebor this chapter, but so many people were concerned about Fili that I couldn't leave it off on such a cliffhanger. So, some resolution for you all there! Not _too_ much resolution, though. Can't have you all expecting me to be nice about these things all of a sudden lol.
> 
> And a final little reminder that reviews are INCREDIBLY helpful for me! The more I know people are interested in this story, the easier it is for me to write :) Even if you just want to leave a string of '!!!!!!' or a keysmash, it's still wonderful knowing that there are people who are expecting me to update every week.

Bilbo jolted out of sleep between one heartbeat and the next. His limbs felt as stiff and unyielding as tree trunks, and his eyes were still firmly shut, but he was awake. He could feel his racing pulse where his fingers were clenched tightly around the blanket, and his heart seemed to have migrated to his throat.

He knew it had been a dream, but that didn’t make it any less terrifying.

A shiver ran down his spine, and Bilbo finally opened his eyes.

A fire crackled merrily opposite the bed, and Bofur was sitting on a stool in front of it, carving something from a block of wood. He clearly wasn’t satisfied with his work, as he was frowning, and his mustache twitched irritably as he muttered under his breath.

Bilbo still felt frozen, but as his eyes fixed on the rhythmic movements of Bofur’s knife, he felt his heart begin to creep towards a more reasonable speed, and his fingers slowly relaxed their death-grip on the blanket.

It felt like hours later when he finally was able to make a noise. Just a little inquisitive hum, but it was enough to catch Bofur’s attention.

“Hello, Bilbo,” he said, giving that easy grin that he was famous for. “Feeling better?”

Bilbo cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said, and though it was a bit hoarse, it came out clear. “What time is it?”

“Hm,” Bofur considered the question, tapping the flat of the knife blade against his lips. “Near midnight, I’d wager. I don’t have a very good sense of these things.”

Midnight? But he had only intended to nap for an hour or so before –

His stomach grumbled then, and Bilbo grimaced. Dinner. Yes, he was very, _very_ late for that.

“There’s a plate for you there,” Bofur said, nodding at a chair next to the bed. On the seat was a plate of cold food.

“Thank you,” Bilbo said, carefully maneuvering himself up to a seating position. He felt tired and achy, as though he was coming down with the flu. He hoped not – the last thing he needed was to get sick right now.

Bofur focused back on his whittling as Bilbo ate, deftly tossing the shavings into the fire as he worked.

“May I ask what you are making?”

“You may,” he said, glancing up to give a cheeky smile.

Bilbo couldn’t help but to smile back at that. “What are you making, then?”

Bofur set down the knife and walked over to the bed, reaching into his pocket as he did so. He revealed a handful of small wooden cylinders – some blank, some with rough outlines of what Bilbo recognized as dwarfish patterns, a few with delicately carved runes.

“That’s amazing,” Bilbo said honestly. Even though most had only basic outlines, the cylinders were still small enough that he was impressed by the precision. “May I?”

“Of course,” Bofur said, holding his outstretched hand a little closer.

Bilbo selected one of the ones that was circled by a line of runes. He ran a finger over the cuts, only just able to feel the difference. “These are beautiful. What are they?”

Bofur tugged on his hat with his free hand, surprisingly shy out of almost nowhere. “Ah, mock-ups of beads. Hair beads, you know. They, er, they mean a great deal. To dwarves. Can tell a lot about a dwarf from what beads they wear. Real ones are made of metal, o’ course. These are just… sketches, I s’ppose.”

Bilbo handed the ‘sketch’ back over. “What do you mean, you can tell a lot from beads?”

Bofur replaced the beads back in his pocket. “Well, they’ve different meanings, based on the patterns, placement, even what kind of braid it’s on.”

“Really?” During the quest, Bilbo had often noted the intricate hairstyles worn by his companions – most notably when the dwarves would often spend hours fixing their hair after some unfortunate incident – but he had never asked if there was meaning behind the various braids. He hadn’t realized braids could _have_ meanings.

“Oh, aye,” Bofur said, settling into the chair by the bed. “Braids of craft, of rank – Kili doesn’t like wearing those overmuch. Says he don’t like the attention the royal braid brings him.” Bilbo nodded. That made sense – for as friendly and outgoing as Kili was, he had long since come to understand that the youngest prince was happier when people didn’t know he was a prince at all. “Bombur, for example. He’s got a master architect braid, now.” Bofur puffed up proudly. “He did all of the major reconstruction planning before any other architects arrived, and when they did, they couldn’t find fault with his plans. It’s _Bombur’s_ Erebor now, it is.”

Bilbo smiled, both pleased for his friend and amused by Bofur’s pride over his little brother. “That’s amazing,” he repeated. “What are your beads for?”

He suddenly became very interested in picking at a loose thread on his right glove. “Nothing… nothing important,” he said. “Just practicin’, really. For the future. Never know when you might need to tell someone important that… they’re important.”

“Bofur –”

The dwarf was on his feet and heading towards the door before Bilbo could say anything else. “Almost forgot, ‘m supposed to get Narvi. He wanted to check on you when you woke up.”

Without his friend in the room, it suddenly seemed much bigger to Bilbo, the fire too far away to provide any warmth. He debated staying under the covers for a moment, but the comfort they gave was scant.

The floor was cool against his feet, just on the wrong side of unpleasant. The short walk from the bed to the hearth seemed to take a year. Bilbo stood with his back to the flames, slowly warming as he watched the firelight flicker on the blade of the knife Bofur had forgotten on the stool.

“Bilbo?”

He snapped his head up, surprised that he hadn’t heard the door open. Narvi was moving towards him, trying to cover a yawn.

“Hello,” Bilbo said, managing a small smile. “Sorry for waking you. I didn’t manage to tell Bofur it wasn’t necessary before he left.”

“It’s alright,” the apprentice healer waved off his concerns. “I asked him to. How are you feeling?”

“Sore. From riding,” he added quickly. “I’m sure it’s from riding all the way here.”

Narvi gave him an uncertain look, but nodded. “That makes sense, yes. Anything else?”

“I’m still rather tired,” he admitted. “I think I only woke up because I was hungry.” Well, at least partly. But there was no need to tell Narvi about the night terrors. There was nothing he could do about them anyways.

“Then I prescribe you more rest,” he said. “Back to bed with you, Master Baggins.”

“I think I can manage that,” Bilbo said. “After a few more moments by the fire. Here,” he said, picking up the knife and offering it, handle first, to Narvi. “Bofur left this behind.”

He took it, carefully making sure to not nick Bilbo’s hand with the tip of the blade. “I’ll see that he gets it back. Sleep well, Bilbo.”

“You as well, Narvi.”

The door shut behind a dwarf for the second time that night, and Bilbo was alone with his thoughts and the fire once more.

* * *

“Well?” Bofur asked as Narvi returned to the room they were sharing.

“He’s… better than before,” Narvi said, brow furrowing. “Better than he was on the road. But something still isn’t right. Kili set up a meeting for me tomorrow with one of the healers here – hopefully they’ll be able to tell me more about how to treat this battle fatigue.” He tossed the knife at Bofur, who caught it without thinking and slid it back into the sheath on his belt.

He didn’t like this – Bilbo being so secretive and closed off. It didn’t suit the hobbit. Bilbo was hardly one to shout about his feelings, but he wore his heart on his sleeve, and by the time Erebor had been retaken, Bofur had been able to read Bilbo like he could read a mine and find the valuable veins. Now, though… now Bilbo was more shut off than a collapsed tunnel.

“…Bofur?”

“Hm?” he looked up, shaken from his trail of thought by Narvi’s hesitant voice.

“What if… what if we can’t help him?” His knuckles were white from where he was clutching at his blanket, and he was avoiding Bofur’s eye. “ _Addkhi_ told me, when I was apprenticed, to remember that I can’t save everyone. I don’t… I don’t want Bilbo to be one of the ones I can’t save.”

“Bilbo Baggins is the bravest hobbit, the bravest _being_ , on all of _Muthurkâmin_ ,” Bofur said firmly. “And one of the most stubborn, too. If anyone can heal from this, it’s him. He just needs time and support, and now we’ve all winter to do just that.”

Narvi finally gave a small smile. “Otherwise you’ll have to take drastic measures?”

“Aye,” Bofur nodded. “He’s not allowed to stay like this, otherwise I _will_ have to take drastic measures.”

* * *

_Erebor, some time later (as the raven flies)_

* * *

Óin and Dís had beaten Thorin and Dwalin to Fili’s side, but only just. Súna darted off to the right as soon as the King and Captain were close enough to make out Fili’s golden braids. Thorin only dimly registered that Bombur’s third child was standing with their cousin a half-dozen feet away. Bifur was apparently babysitting today, as three of Súna’s siblings were already with him. Presumably, he’d been the one to send Súna off as a messenger.

“What happened?” Thorin asked as he came to a stop behind Dís, who was kneeling beside Fili’s prone form.

Fili’s face was tight with pain and humiliation. “Fell,” he grunted, looking studiously up towards the ceiling instead of meeting anyone’s gaze.

Óin scowled down at him. “ _Where_ is your cane, laddie?”

“In his chambers, I’ve no doubt,” Thorin sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. His disappointed look wasn’t very effective with Fili still not looking at him, but his tone carried the sentiment well enough to make the corners of Fili’s mouth tighten.

Dís reached out to gently brush away the hair in Fili’s face. “ _Dashat…_ ”

“ _E gilkhal, Amad,”_ Fili muttered, head twitching away slightly from her touch. Dís withdrew her hand and Thorin caught a glimpse of the pained look on her face.

Óin gestured at Thorin and Dwalin. “Here, now. Get him back on his feet.”

He and Dís moved back, allowing Thorin and Dwalin to get on either side of Fili and carefully hoist him upwards. If his hand clutched at Thorin’s shoulder like he was a frightened dwarfling again, neither would ever mention it.

When his boots were flat on the floor again, Thorin nodded at Dwalin, who stepped away. Fili wobbled, but only he and Thorin were aware of it, held steady by his uncle as he was.

“Thank you,” Fili said, finally looking at Óin so that the healer had a better chance at catching his words.

Óin waved him off. “It’s my job to keep you lot in one piece. Just _use_ the thrice-damned cane from now on.”

Fili grimaced, but nodded. Óin harrumphed, nodded back, and walked off in the direction of his chambers.

Bifur, deciding that the royal family had everything under control now and no more messages would need to be sent, herded his group of dwarflings away. His and Bofur’s shop wasn’t too far, so Thorin could only presume that either he or one of the children had been the first to find Fili or see him fall.

“Right,” Thorin said, turning himself and Fili in the direction of the royal living quarters. “We’re going to have a _talk_ , you and I. And,” he added in an undertone as they started off. “you’re going to apologize to your mother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Translations
> 
> Addkhi = from father, adad, and the gender-neutral marker khi. Basically, a nonbinary father-figure.
> 
> Muthurkâmin = Middle-Earth/Arda
> 
> Dashat = son
> 
> E gilkhal, Amad = I’m well/fine, Mother (the personal pronoun ‘I’ [here ‘E’] is often omitted according to the DwarrowScholar Dictionary. I personally headcanon that using ‘I’ is a more formal/deliberate way of speaking for dwarves. Fili is trying to distance himself from what he sees as a humiliating situation, and since he can’t do much physically, he does it through his language)
> 
>  
> 
> Also, if you're interested in this sort of thing, I made a little moodboard for these first few chapters of DQM! [on tumblr](http://butim-justharry.tumblr.com/post/181117779413/wait-where-are-you-going-to-pack-bilbo) and [on pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/posts/257546)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A light-hearted exchange, a few new faces, and a glimmer of hope for Bilbo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry belated Christmas to anyone who celebrates! To everyone else, I hope you can take advantage of the rockin' Christmas sales. Apologies for the late chapter, but somehow I have less free time at my parents' house than I do at school.

The days grew shorter and more chill, and though Gimli, and to a certain extent Kili, didn’t seem especially pleased about it, they remained at Rivendell. Bilbo didn’t mind. He still thought that it was a wonderful, breathtaking place, and the first morning that he awoke to see frost sparkling on every delicate curve on the Last Homely House, he actually had forgotten to breathe for a few moments.

Bofur had told him that they were going to winter in Rivendell, and Bilbo had no complaints whatsoever about that plan. Everyone was settling in – even Gimli could be found laughing and barking out challenges on the training grounds. He got on well with the twin sons of Elrond, especially Elrohir, though he did still grumble to the other dwarves about spending so much time with the ‘bloody leaf-eaters.’ Bilbo was fairly certain that that was just to keep up appearances, though.

Kili, too, had found friends with the twins, but his easy-going nature meant that pretty much every elf who used the archery range with any sort of regularity was soon friendly with the prince. Narvi’s earnestness and curious nature also made him very popular with the elves – he was just as likely to be seen deep in conversation with the stablemaster as he was with one of the healers.

Oddly, Bofur had ended up as the most reclusive dwarf of the bunch. He seemed content to just sit quietly and either work on his wooden beads or carve other little trinkets. He hummed a little, and would give a song if asked, but otherwise kept to himself.

This suited Bilbo just fine. The others always wanted him to _do_ something, and he very rarely felt like doing much more than reading at the moment. Rivendell had a marvelous library, and he intended to enjoy it. Bofur was content to sit quietly with him, though, and it was nice just to have another presence by the fire.

He still woke often in the night, imagined and remembered horrors making his limbs too heavy and his heart too fast. But there was nothing to be done about a few bad dreams, so he kept his mouth shut.

Ten days after their arrival in Rivendell, the hunting horns rang out once more, heralding the arrival of a small party that galloped through the gates. At their head was a golden-haired elf that seemed to glow from within – atop his white horse, he seemed to shine over the whole valley. Just behind him was a young human; no more than twenty, in Bilbo’s estimation, if that. His dark, messy hair was in sharp contrast against the elf’s shimmering locks.

Elrond and several other elves had gone to greet the party, but Bilbo was still inside, watching from an upper balcony.

“What’s all the fuss about, then?” Bofur asked, still seated by the fire in the room.

“A hunting party has returned,” Bilbo called back. “There’s a human with them – young lad, I’d say, either just about or just past his coming of age.” He watched as Elrond put a hand on the lad’s shoulder and guided him inside, nodding seriously as the human spoke. There was a small, fond smile on Elrond’s face, almost parental. “He’s close with Lord Elrond, it seems.”

“Ah, that’ll be his ward, then.”

“Excuse me?” Bilbo turned around and returned to the fire.

Bofur waved his knife through the air vaguely. “Well, I’m not really s’pposed to know about it, but once one miner hears a bit of gossip, we all know it soon enough. ‘bout, oh, fifteen years or so ago, Lord Elrond took in a human babe. _Apparently,_ it was as a personal favor,” he scoffed. “I think it’s more likely the lad is someone important. Or will be, at any rate.”

“So, Lord Elrond is, what, protecting him?”

“That’s what I reckon,” Bofur nodded. “’specially since we didn’t see him when we came through Rivendell on our way to see old Smaug. Me, Bifur, and Bombur all agree that the elves had him hidden away somewhere away from Thorin, and maybe Gandalf, too.”

“Or they were just keeping him out from underfoot,” Bilbo pointed out. “Seven years ago he would have still been a child.”

He shrugged and went back to his carving. “Either way, he’ll be a strange one, that’s for sure. A human lad raised by elves and kept mostly secret from the outside world.”

Bilbo hummed thoughtfully, then remembered the elf the boy had arrived with. “Do you know anything about an elf with hair like the sun?”

“Yellow hair?” Bofur looked up, nose wrinkling in confusion. “That’s round about half of them, I think. The Mirkwood King and Prince have yellow hair, even.”

“No, not yellow,” Bilbo said, frowning down at his feet as he struggled to recall the exact shade of the elf’s hair. “Like… like gold. Like gold sparkling in the sun.”

* * *

Dinner had been moved into one of the halls, as the weather grew colder. But the lovely natural architecture of Rivendell still made it seem as though they were eating out among the trees of the valley.

The elves had obligingly been providing fish or bird with dinner, much to the dwarves’ relief. Tonight, though, it seemed that the hunting party had returned with not only a count of orcs felled, but also a brace of rabbits. Gimli was thrilled.

Bilbo didn’t pay much attention to Gimli’s exclamations of delight. He was busy trying not to look like he was staring at the shining elf and the human, who were sitting not too far away with Elladan, Elrohir, and a few other elves that had been a part of the hunting party. The human, he noted, was also heartily enjoying his own portion of roasted rabbit.

He had surreptitiously pointed out the shining elf to Bofur when they had arrived, but he had only shrugged before starting to fill his plate.

There was a sudden, loud peal of laughter that caused the entire room to focus on the table with the hunters and the twins. “Estel, you _didn’t_ ,” Elrohir gasped between his chuckles.

The human flushed. “Well, you know, it… it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

That made Elrohir dissolve into true giggles, and he leaned helplessly against his brother, who was clearly biting back a grin.

“And did you learn your lesson?” Elladan asked.

The shining elf snorted into his wine. It was the most undignified sound Bilbo had ever heard any elf make, including the guards in Mirkwood who got so roaringly drunk that he managed to sneak thirteen dwarves out from under their noses.

“I don’t think it’s fair for _you_ to ask him that,” the elf said. “What about the time I caught you two –”

“No, no, we’re talking about Estel tonight,” Elrohir said, sobering quickly. “Not my brother and me. In fact, I think everyone is probably quite sick of talking about _us_. After more than 2500 years, who wouldn’t be?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Estel said, now grinning widely. “Everyone always enjoys a good retelling of your mishaps. _Especially_ the ones where Glorfindel got involved.” He turned to the shining elf as he spoke. “Go on, please.”

Elrond seemed to appear out of nowhere behind his sons, effectively derailing the conversation entirely. “I don’t believe you’ve met our guests yet,” he said. “Please, follow me.”

Estel and the shining elf – Glorfindel? – stood and followed him without complaint, coming over to where Bilbo and the dwarves were sitting.

“May I introduce Estel, my foster son,” Elrond said, gesturing towards the human, who bowed. “And one of my advisors, Glorfindel.”

“Well met,” Kili said, standing to bow in return. “I am Kili, son of Vili, Prince of Erebor, and these are my companions: Bofur, son of Aritur; Gimli, son of Glóin; Narvi, son of Rógvi; and Bilbo Baggins of the Shire.”

“Well met, indeed,” Glorfindel said, bowing. “It has been some time since I have had the pleasure of speaking with a prince of the line of Durin.”

Kili’s face brightened. “Do you know my uncle, then? King Thorin?”

“I’ve not had the pleasure of meeting him, no,” he said. “I was acquainted with Prince Thráin in the past, and before him, Prince Frór, albeit very briefly.”

“My grandfather and great-uncle,” Kili confirmed. “Did you also know my great-grandfather, King Thrór?”

“We were introduced,” Glorfindel said gently. Bilbo had a feeling that Thrór had not left the most favorable impression with the elf. “Master Baggins,” he said, turning abruptly towards Bilbo. “I’ve heard much about you. Not many can say they had a civil conversation with their death and still walked away.”

“I wouldn’t say Smaug was especially civil,” Bilbo said. He was distantly aware that his voice was a little too even, the inflection not quite right somehow. This realization also made him aware that everything was becoming rather distant and removed, as though he was only watching the conversation happening through a pane of glass instead of participating. “Or even that he was very interesting to have a conversation with.”

Glorfindel laughed – a lovely sound that, for some reason, made Bilbo think of yellow flowers with eight petals. “I will have to take your word for it, Master Baggins, as I haven’t talked to a dragon myself, yet.”

Elrond muttered something under his breath which might have been “ _please don’t try_ ,” but Bilbo was too distant to be sure.

He forced himself to smile and hoped it wasn’t as grimace-like as it felt. “Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Glorfindel, Estel. I think I shall retire for the evening, however. Good night.”

He left the table without waiting for a reply (which would gnaw at his conscious later on). His only goal was his bed, where it didn’t matter how far away he felt, because no one _there_ expected him to talk about dragons and near-death experiences.

* * *

The dwarves, Elrond, Glorfindel, and Estel watched Bilbo walk away with varying degrees of concern.

“I see what you mean,” Glorfindel said quietly as the hobbit disappeared from view.

“What who means?” Estel asked.

“Go finish your dinner,” Elrond said, not unkindly. “I’m afraid I have some grim things to discuss for the rest of the evening.”

Estel frowned and walked deliberately slowly back to his table. Once there, though, Elladan and Elrohir quickly distracted him with some inane debate. Sometimes, Elrond was actually thankful for their ability to turn anything into an argument.

“Prince Kili, Master Narvi,” Elrond said. “Would you care to join Glorfindel and I in my study?”

“But –” Bofur kicked Gimli hard under the table with the easy practice of being a big brother. Gimli scowled, but stayed seated as the other two got up and followed the elves out of the dining hall.

“I want to know what’s going on!” Gimli complained as soon as they were out of earshot.

“And you think I don’t?” Bofur raised an eyebrow. “Bilbo’s my friend. But we’d just get in the way right now. Narvi’s a healer, and Kili’s a prince. I’m sure that Master Glorfindel has some sort of experience with whatever is troubling Bilbo. They don’t need us right now, while they’re figuring out the best way to go about things. Kili and Narvi will fill us in after.”

Gimli still didn’t look happy, but at least he wasn’t trying to set Bofur’s hat on fire with just his glare anymore. “I don’t like it.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I don’t either.”

* * *

Kili, Narvi, and Elrond found seats in his study, but Glorfindel stayed standing. His hands were clasped behind his back and his face was troubled.

“The Battle of Five Armies took place just over seven years ago,” he began. “Correct?”

“It hasn’t quite been a month since the anniversary, yes,” Kili nodded.

“And in all that time, Bilbo Baggins sat in the Shire, mourned his friends, and did his best to forget everything that happened?”

“Apparently.” Kili sighed. “Until I arrived and told him that my brother, uncle, and myself had all survived. He must have thought I was a ghost – nearly dropped the wine bottles he was carrying when he saw me waiting outside of Bag End.”

Glorfindel’s frown deepened.

“Wine bottles?” Elrond questioned. That detail had not been mentioned previously. He turned to look at his friend. “Do you think he was self-medicating?”

“Possibly – probably?” Glorfindel rubbed two fingers against his right temple in slow circles. “It’s what I did, in the beginning.”

“Self-medicating?” Narvi questioned.

“Drinking until he no longer feels his pain,” Elrond explained.

“Until he can’t remember his own name, let alone why he’s drinking in the first place,” Glorfindel corrected. “It works wonders, but only as long as there is drink to be had. And the hangovers are all the worse for suddenly remembering the awful thing you were trying to forget.”

“Sounds like you have first-hand experience with this,” Narvi observed.

“I do,” he said shortly. “And, maybe, in the far future, if the stars are rightly aligned and I have good reason to, I’ll tell you about it. _Maybe_.”

Narvi took the cue to shut up for what it was, blushing a bit behind his scruffy beard and looking down at his boots. Kili reached over and squeezed his shoulder in silent support.

“So, Bilbo’s been getting drunk with some sort of regularity to cope,” he said. “But I haven’t seen him drink to anything even close to excess since we arrived here, and on the road we only had water. Is that what’s made it worse?”

“It’s difficult to say,” Glorfindel said, starting to pace a short track in front of the table. “If he was going through a true withdrawl, I’d expect him to be physically sick.” He shared a meaningful look with Elrond, who nodded.

“He has been tired and withdrawn, but not ill,” he said.

Glorfindel nodded sharply. “Then I don’t think the drinking was… as bad. Not as we’ve seen it before. But he’s still suffering. And he’s said nothing to either of you?”

“No,” Kili shook his head, looking frustrated. “I can tell he’s hurting, but he refuses to talk about it.”

“He told me he was sore.”

The others all turned to Narvi, who flushed under the sudden scrutiny. “That first night, when he woke up close to midnight. He told me he was tired and sore, though he said it was probably from riding. But I’ve seen him rubbing at his shoulders and neck when he thinks no one is looking. He’s still sore, and all he’s done since we got here is sit and read. It’s not like he’s sparring with Gimli every afternoon.”

“Perhaps,” Elrond mused, “he _is_ fighting every day, but not when we can see it.”

A muscle in Glorfindel’s jaw jumped. “Night terrors,” he said quietly. “You can lie as still as the dead, but fighting for your life in your dreams is still exhausting.” Kili opened his mouth, but Glorfindel continued, anticipating his question. “I’ll look in on him tonight. Perhaps he will open up to someone who understands _that_ particular battle.”

Kili and Narvi murmured their thanks, but Glorfindel did not seem to hear them. His eyes, as Bilbo’s often had been in the past weeks, were looking at something long ago and far away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aragorn/Estel wasn't originally supposed to be in this story, let alone this chapter, but Glorfindel didn't want to show up alone ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> I've been waiting to get to this chapter for several weeks now - pretty much as soon as I confirmed that this would be more than a oneshot, I wanted to include Glorfindel. Everyone in Middle-Earth has PTSD probably, but like. The dude fought at Gondolin, went down with a Balrog, came back from the dead, and fought in more epic wars. Glorfindel probably has super PTSD, but he also has it on lock by this point, and should be able to help Bilbo out ;)
> 
> [Here's his wiki page](http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Glorfindel) if you're interested and/or don't know his story and can't wait for the next chapter to find out.


End file.
